Hopping Back on the Merry-Go-Round

Tomorrow I have an appointment with a therapist. Why, you ask? Because. Because I think I’m going totally crazy. Crazy with baby obsession. If I don’t get this out of me with someone objective, I feel it may eat me up inside even worse than it already has and is. Example: I walked past a rack of baby clothes at a store on Saturday and became teary eyed. And that’s not the first time that’s happened.

Today the younger sister of one of my dearest friends had her first baby. This is a girl who I’ve known since she was 2 years old. When I first learned last fall that she was pregnant I felt like a miserable failure and refused to offer a congratulations or well wish: here is someone 3 years younger than me, married for only 8 months, decided to have a baby, bought the same pre-baby book I own, and—BAM!—pregnant. When I saw the news on FB today that baby had arrived I felt even worse. Depressed. Jealous. Sad. Lost, After mulling it over some, I decided that I’d like people to be happy for me if it were my first baby and that I should extend the same well wishes to someone else, no matter how much it hurts.

Yesterday AF reared her ugly red head. She was 2 days late. Off an on during those 2 agonizing days  of waiting I foolishly allowed myself to hope for the best, and even pretended for a moment or two that I was pregnant. Oddly, I’d had literally no symptoms leading up to AF except for one day last week when I was being down and out with gut-wrenching cramps. I entertained the idea that perhaps, since AF was so late, maybe it worked this time and no AF was on the horizon.

So, when I woke up yesterday morning to shower and get ready for church you can imagine my utter dismay at the doubling-over, mind numbing, soul-crushing, extraordinary cramping that proceeded. Needless to day, the waterworks unleashed. DH came to console me as every emotion of failure, sadness, hopelessness, despair, guilt, and anger came pouring out. To top off the nightmare, a huge, HUGE blood clot came out of me while sitting on the commode, sending me into even further hysteria. And the pain! My God, the pain. I’m already running out of prescription painkillers, no matter how much I try to supplement them by relying on massive doses of ibuprofen instead. I literally spent the entire day yesterday in bed, crying and taking medications, pressing the heating pad into my aching uterus and ovary, praying and pleading with God to just allow me to get pregnant, examining myself spiritually to determine why God could be so mad at me, hopelessly angry over the fact that my health plan does not cover infertility treatment (that’s another post in itself).

Today the pain is relatively better: I can get out of bed and actually interact with the world, hide my sadness as I’ve become so accustomed to, and actually take myself to work. But inside….. inside it eats at me and torments me, and mocks me, and taunts me: You’re not good enough, you missed the mark, you’re not worthy, you can’t have a mother and you can’t be a mother, you can only watch as even the most wicked, Godless, messed up people you know procreate time and time again. This is my world.

Laughably, in only one short week from today my fertility chances again increase to medium, then high, as the next ovulation window approaches! And back to it I will go! It will be another round of chart analyzing, CM analyzing, OPK tests, and timing BD to hop back on this merry-go-round of hope/disappointment, hope/disappointment, hope/disappointment that anymore consumes my life.


Author: Marixsa

Resolving infertility as childless-not-by-choice and encouraging fellow endo warriors along the way.

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